Love, but at what cost?
by chibiness87
Summary: Sherlock introspective piece for THAT SCENE. Spoilers for 4.03 The Final Problem. One-shot. T for language


**Love, but at what cost?** by **chibiness87**  
 **Rated** : T (language)  
 **Spoilers:** THAT SCENE from THAT EPISODE! (S4.03 The Final Problem)  
Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to other, much more talented people than me

 **A/N:** Yes. I know it's been done. And yes, I'm jumping on the bandwagon. And I know, _I know_ I have other, more pressing things to do that write _another_ fic, like write essays for uni, and a new chapter for Justice, and so this is going to be a one-shot.

* * *

He has been told he is emotionally supressed (dead inside, to be more accurate. And he is nothing but accurate) by all who meet him for most of his life. Most of the time he ignores it. He can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times someone's opinion of his behaviour has actually caused him to stop and apologise. (All of them are about, and to, her.)

He knows the science of love. The hormones. Chemical reactions and neurotransmitters in the brain which can be tested for if one knows what they're looking for.

People put such strong attachments to the overall results however. It boggles him how much. Oh, he knows the theory about emotional love. About the _elation_ and _joy_ and the _knowing from first sight_ (which, seriously, people believe that?!).

But this? People actually strive to feel like _this_?

It hurts.

It _hurts_.

More than the biggest comedown off the biggest high he has ever been on. More than being shot through the chest by his best friend's wife. More than watching said wife dive in front of him to save him from being shot in the chest instead.

There is no _elation_. No _joy_. (And he definitely did not _know from first sight_.)

There is pain. And agony.

Is this love?

Is this what love _truly_ feels like?

Are people, are they all really _that_ stupid?

His eyes stare blindly at the screen, not seeing his sister; instead just the broken shell of a woman who knows him, truly _knows_ him, and loves him anyway. The phone call is already on a loop in its own room in his mind palace. He's seeing all the tells, (her reluctance at even answering the phone is a big hint, even before her defeated tone had reached him (always deducing, because even now he just can't help himself)), and he _feels_ her pain, her desolation. She is the strongest woman, the strongest _person_ , he has ever met. She is his true best friend, the one that, no matter what anyone thinks about him, or about her, _matters_. She has _always_ mattered. And Jesus, what the hell has he just done to her?

The voice from the monitor (his sister, he has to keep reminding himself, his _sister_ is the one doing this to him, to her, to them) keeps going on at him, keeps taunting him, playing him like her own fucking violin and He. Just. Snaps.

There is a roaring in his head that blocks out all the other noise, and a fizzing in his veins he normally associates with the feeling of cocaine or heroin coursing through his bloodstream. It's a focus that terrifies him, because while it's a darkness he knows, it's a darkness he doesn't always trust.

But, just this once, it's a darkness he welcomes.

He doesn't know how long it lasts, this darkness, this deadness, but when his mind finally, finally clears enough for him to hear John's voice calling his name, he is surrounded by destruction.

The once pristine coffin, (her coffin, Molly's coffin, (for fucks sake how is he supposed to process that?!)) is in tatters; splinters and ripped silk lining and a brass plate stained now with his blood. (Oh, that's how.) A glance down, and yes, his hands are a mess, blood seeping from split knuckles, and yet, he cannot bring himself to care.

Because Molly Hooper could have died today, all because she loves him, and he loves her in return.

He feels like a fucking fairy-tale. Boy meets girl. Girl falls desperately in love with boy. Boy knows, but does nothing. Boy is a vicious, evil, self-obsessive destructive arsehole to girl. Girl forgives him. Boy does it again. Girl saves him. Boy does it again. Then fakes his own death. Girl always forgives him. Boy shoots himself so full of smack he cannot see a way out of hell. Girl saves him. Again. Boy forces girl to say she loves him so she won't get blow up by non-existent bomb. Boy realises he's always loved her. Vows if he ever gets out of this godforsaken mess, he'll do anything to make it right. Even if girl will never speak to him again.

( _Boy_ , he thinks _, is an idiot_.)

John tells him to be a soldier, and he has to put his heart back in a box. But he's not sure where the box even is anymore, never mind if his heart will fit. Pushing emotions aside used to be easy. He's beginning to think nothing will be easy anymore.

And _then_ , because there seems to be no end to this hell, he has to choose between killing his blood or his brother (because John will always, _always_ be family), and he has had enough of this entire fucking day to last a lifetime. So he puts the gun to his head and starts to count. As he gets closer to zero, his mind floats to Molly. He hopes, one day, she will forgive him. Even if he never gets the chance to ask it of her.

He calls out two, and a dart hits his neck, and then everything fades to black.

* * *

end

thoughts?


End file.
